Measured In Heartbeats
by mr-raindrops
Summary: The crown prince sets out on a journey, in search of ways to mend a broken heart. (AkaKuro-ish, AoKuro-ish)


_Measured In Heartbeats_

* * *

"And the little prince added, 'but eyes are blind. You have to look with the heart.'"

- _The Little Prince_, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

* * *

"I'll be back in a few months. Six, at most. If the King is back earlier than due, tell him not to worry," he informs the secretary of state, before leaving with enough coins to cover a mere two weeks of living expenses. He'll just have to find work.

The King, Akashi Seijuurou's father, is on a trip in another country for economic negotiations, and so for the first time in Seijuurou's life he departs the palace grounds for non-diplomatic purposes. However, the only existing reason that his disappearance would most certainly distress the King is that Seijuurou is the only heir to the throne, the only Prince of their bloodline; it'd be problematic for the Crown Prince to simply vanish.

The palace staff whom Seijuurou passes on his way bow respectfully, but he feels their trailing gazes on his back, draped in a ratty cloak that Seijuurou had scrounged for the previous day in the storage rooms.

How troublesome indeed, he thinks. The sky is a sheet of grey overhead, sooty with storm clouds, dulls the rolling hills of the kingdom with anticipation of thunder and a drenched hide and seek. He pulls up his hood, and sighs.

.

.

.

The days often wrap hollowly around perfunctory routines, and Seijuurou swallows it willingly with an acceptance that is neither eager nor reluctant. It's like an argument, he supposes - but it's one in which no side wins. Slumber is a certain reprieve, consolation lying solely in its ability to craft a dreamless realm a distance from the conscious world, cradling him in its oblivion, the distance effortlessly crossed on some nights and near impossible on others.

Seijuurou is tired some days, and those days, his thoughts are in disarray and his heart aches for change; other days are more bearable, drifting easily through each task like being swept along with the current of a slow river.

This is not to say that freedom was never longed for, sweetly indulgent in the wind slipping past his lips and through his nose and into his lungs as he walks through the marketplace, bustling with fishermen and farmers and bakers setting up their stands - and it is not as though Seijuurou had never held these thoughts close to his heart. It was simply never a priority, and it was never intended to be.

And somehow, in the midst of throngs of people pushing in from all sides, bargaining and shouting for cabbage, floundering cods, apples fresh from the orchard, Seijuurou has never felt more alone.

.

.

.

A few days prior, in the midst of practicing violin, Seijuurou's heart had broken. A whisk of piercing pain had shot through his chest, his lungs and throat tightening until he sealed it away in the darker cavities of his mind, where it then resided with only faint throbs alongside all the past pains.

He'd waited a while, before dragging his bow lightly across a string once, and frowning. It did not feel quite right. It no longer hurt, but whereas the pain had left little residue, it had also consumed other things. He placed down the violin and the bow, the fine hairs of the bow sprinkling specks of rosin on the table.

Seijuurou pulled out the locket in which he kept his heart, and flicked the lid open to examine it. Hearts have very strange properties; it varies from person to person, but generally, hearts tend to be soft, although both tenacious and fragile as well - easily malleable if their owners so choose. But his had been gradually and steadily hardening, and at that moment, it had noticeable fissures running lines down and around.

Seijuurou still does not know what it was that had happened. He treads mindfully and cautiously guards his heart with prudence.

There are people that he has heard of who wear their hearts out on their sleeves, as if with no forethoughts to the heart's vulnerability, the notion of which escapes him. Granted, the heart is not absolutely necessary for survival, but it is a must for one to live. And sometimes, those who do not live, do not survive. Seijuurou would know.

The following morning, he had woken and prepared for his history class in the palace libraries. It is one of his favourite places, with its ceiling-high shelves and spines holding together time that stood and will forever stand still, but it is one of his least favourite classes. Humans have a habit of repeating the same mistakes, his instructor told him, countless times, so we must learn from the past in order to prevent this repetition. Seijuurou is - _was -_ sure, however, that he does not make mistakes. There is no place for blunders.

Seijuurou splashed water onto his face, stifling a sigh. When he looked up, staring into the mirror, however, his reflection blinked back at him with an iris that glinted unfamiliar gold.

Seijuurou sighed, and closed his eyes.

Must be the broken heart.

.

.

.

"Excuse me," Seijuurou says to a pink-haired lady with a basket full of vegetables in her arms. "Do you know anyone who might be capable of fixing a broken heart? You see, it is a great inconvenience to me to have my heart in such a state."

"The doctor might have a cure for you. His office is right around the corner up ahead. Doctor Midorima is very relied upon in these areas," the woman says. She then tilts her head to the side with a look containing an extensive amount of sympathy and something else that Seijuurou dislikes immediately. "But my, a broken heart. I heard it's hard to heal."

Seijuurou thanks her before he can dwell on what exactly it was in her expression that made it all that more painful, and goes about on his way.

He finds the doctor's office down the block, and pushes open the heavy oak door to enter. The cheerful young man at receptions informs Seijuurou that Dr. Midorima is busy at the moment, but oh, please take a seat because he should be out in a moment. They make small talk as Seijuurou waits, light-hearted and pointless.

"So what's your name?" the man, Takao, asks. "I haven't seen you around these parts before. We'll have to make a new file for your medical records."

"I'm Seijuurou, a mere traveler," Seijuurou replies, smoothly as to not stir any amount of suspicion. "I will not be staying long. There will be no need."

One of the doors in the corridor adjoined with the waiting room swings open, and a woman walks out holding a boy's hand. A man trails behind, looking tired as the two exit the office.

"Ah, there he is," Takao says, with an undertone of amusement. "You have a new patient, doctor."

Midorima fixes his collar before extending a hand. "Dr. Midorima, nice to meet you."

"Seijuurou, glad to make your acquaintance," he returns, and shakes his hand.

Midorima leads him to one of the rooms in the back, and turns. "What seems to be the problem?"

"It seems that my heart is broken," Seijuurou says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the locket protecting his heart for Midorima to examine. "I am not sure of the cause."

Midorima touches the heart with one of his bandaged fingertips tentatively, as if it is fragile china and he is afraid to shatter it.

"What do you think of it?" Seijuurou asks, and it is met with momentary silence.

"What I'm thinking is that there are two options. The first is that we insert fillers," Midorima says finally, decisively, leaning back and adjusting his glasses. "The drawback is that you will have to learn how to live with a heart that will, essentially, be forever broken. The second is to wait for it to heal on its own. I'm sure that the issues with the latter is clear to you."

It is a bit frustrating. Seijuurou has already considered all potential paths in his head and has already seen the results that they lead to, knows well that what he soughts is what is lies at the very end, and it will make no difference to him the type of road he will have to travel to reach it. "Filling a void with a replacement isn't a very efficient way to go about it in the long run, is it doctor?" he says.

"It isn't," Midorima acquiesces stiffly. "But I hope I made it clear that when I said 'wait', I did not mean for you to stagnate."

"I understand that perfectly well," Seijuurou reassures him. That, however, doesn't solve Seijuurou's question.

He finds an inn, afterwards, to stay at. Perhaps it is one of those questions that no one else can answer but yourself.

(It is only later that evening, on that bridge where abstraction meets reality, that he thinks again of the look the woman had given him, and recalls that there had been a certain heartfelt tenderness in it, like that of a mother gazing at her child.)

.

.

.

It is not an individualistic process, yet in another sense, it is. Trying to mend his heart on his own will not suffice, he knows. It's a mistake that people in his life has repeatedly made, and he himself had made. But while he has made a mistake and there is no changing the past, he does not condone its recurrence, so he sets out early the next day. An old man he comes across sweeping the streets recommends Aomine Daiki, the blacksmith.

"That boy, he's fixed hearts before," he tells Seijuurou. "He's very competent in what he does."

It is a strange bit of knowledge to learn that blacksmiths deal with hearts, but indeed, Aomine handles Seijuurou's heart like it is ingrained into his muscle memory, thumb running over its glassy planes, marked with deep crevices. A blue-haired boy watches from Aomine's side with an unwavering gaze that periodically flickers to meet Seijuurou's eyes.

Aomine's brows furrow. "Huh."

"I hear you are a skilled blacksmith," Seijuurou tells him.

"I guess," he shrugs, still studying Seijuurou's heart with a tinge of the fascination and vexation of an alchemist that has just discovered a new element. "Well, eh. I'm so-so."

"I beg to differ," the nameless boy counters, surprisingly fierce. "Aomine-kun is the best in the city. Kingdom, probably."

"But hearts are delicate things, you feel?" Aomine scratches his cheek. Seijuurou has good reason to believe that his face is flushed from the compliment. "I think jewellers would probably do a better job with this one. Kise's bored as hell these days, so he'll be happy to help."

"Jeweller?" Seijuurou queries, raising an eyebrow.

"Your heart does resemble a gemstone," Aomine points out. "What happened to it, even? Never seen a heart this solid."

The other boy elbows him in the ribs, earning a pained grunt. "Aomine-kun, you can't just ask people things like that. It's personal, I'm sure."

"You can't just go elbowing people like that either," Aomine says, glaring. "I didn't mean anything by that, okay?"

The boy gives him a disapproving look, which Aomine seems to wilt under, before he addresses Seijuurou. "Please don't mind him. What Aomine-kun meant was that hearts are typically much more pliant. When they're softer, they heal quite easily by themselves, and as a result, hardened hearts are more difficult cases to deal with."

"Yes, I have heard," Seijuurou says. "And I take it, then, that I would somehow have to soften my heart in order for it to heal?"

The boy blinks. "Perhaps. I'm not very sure, to be honest." He gazes at Seijuurou, a look he understands well, because he ponders, too, on those late nights of uncrossed bridges, waking nightmares and too many thoughts tugging him down under, why it is that he has all of his answers enclosed within his hold yet cannot feel himself taking a step forward in the absence of a single detail.

"Kise just closed up, I think," Aomine says, placing Seijuurou's heart back into his palms. "Said he had a date or something, but tomorrow around this time he should still be available. He's just next door, if you want to try to see if he can do something about your heart."

"Thank you," Seijuurou says, glancing down at his heart. It seems that nothing has changed.

.

.

.

It had started to rain.

Seijuurou clicks open his locket, and studies his heart, collapsed in upon itself and stained, just barely, with a lonely blue. The heavy raindrops tap against the silver lid, and soak through the coarse fabric of his cloak.

Then, the rain stops. Seijuurou looks skywards.

An umbrella.

He turns, and sees that it's the boy from the blacksmith's.

"Would you like to come into my shop?" he asks, gesturing towards the dried goods store that Seijuurou had passed moments ago. He tacks on, as if predicting that Seijuurou would refuse, "the storm is supposed to get a lot worse."

Seijuurou slides the locket back into his pocket, and notices that his hands are trembling like a leaf in a gale of severe wind. "I'd be intruding," he says.

"Just for a while," he says back, not quite yielding yet not quite insistent, either.

Seijuurou's teeth catches the inside of his cheek, the sharp pain momentarily masking the dull throb of his heart. "If it doesn't trouble you, then it would certainly be nice."

"Of course it's not trouble," the boy says, and starts walking. "Kuroko Tetsuya. Honoured to be in your company."

"That should be my line," Seijuurou says as he falls into step beside him. "My name is Seijuurou. If it would be of any assistance, I will gladly help out in the store in exchange for your kindness."

"Don't worry about it," Kuroko does not question the omission of a family name, and there's a click as his key slides into the lock before the door opens to a room full of barrels and shelves, lined with rows and rows of tea leaves and spices in neatly labelled jars. "You're welcome to stay until you have to set out again."

Seijuurou blinks, and Kuroko seems to sense the covert darkness that overturns and submerges him, ebbing only ever fleetingly and only occasionally, letting him lapse and relapse then relapse again into the bitter exhaustion of trying to float to the surface, of trying to breathe.

"Until the storm stops, then?" he suggests. A logical answer, but.

"...until the storm stops," Seijuurou agrees.

.

.

.

"I was planning to buy groceries tomorrow, you see," Kuroko says as he shakes the rain from the umbrella. It pools to trickle down the slanted pavement and into a nearby puddle. "I eat out on Sunday nights. I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you."

"It's fine," Seijuurou answers, and holds the restaurant's door open for Kuroko.

Much of the meal is eaten in silence, which Seijuurou does not mind in the very least, with Kuroko telling him while they wait for their food to be served about how he usually visits Aomine on Sunday afternoons, how they'd grown up together with someone named Momoi Satsuki, and - as Seijuurou gleans from his wistful tone - how precious Aomine is to him. The questions directed at Seijuurou are responded to quite sincerely, careful questions easy and none too overly inquisitive. Seijuurou pays for dinner, much to Kuroko's displeased noises of protest, and they stop by the bakery for pumpernickel.

"Who's that?" asks the tall boy behind the counter, tip of the nose dusted with flour and carrying with him a strong scent of herbs.

"It's Seijuurou-kun," Kuroko says. "This is Murasakibara-kun, by the way."

"Hello," Seijuurou says, stares up at Murasakibara who stares down, hair falling into his eyes and casting shadows on his cheekbones. Murasakibara breaks the eye contact, stuffs several large rolls into a paper bag, and proceed to shove it into Kuroko's arms.

"Don't needa pay," he says to Kuroko, who is fumbling with the bag in surprise.

"Sorry?"

Murasakibara ignores him, and instead turns to Seijuurou. "You look sad," he tells him. The sound of crumpling paper ceases, and Kuroko goes still. Seijuurou waits, breathes the aroma of yeast in salt water. "Why are you sad?"

It is not a question given rise to from curiosity, and indeed, Murasakibara does not expect an answer.

Seijuurou does not have an answer to give.

They leave, afterwards, and Seijuurou's heart feels neither heavier nor lighter when they do, dense sourdough nor rising dough.

.

.

.

Customers are not rare, but it isn't the hustle-bustle of the marketplace, either, so one evening when the streets appeared to be particularly empty, Kuroko closes the shop up early and tasks himself with researching the multitudinous types of hearts. It would be tremendously helpful to know the type of your heart, he says, before pushing a steaming cup of tea into Seijuurou's hands. It certainly would be beneficial; would you like me to help? Seijuurou asks, but is declined.

The tea is searingly hot in Seijuurou's hands, like bread straight from the ovens, as he watches Kuroko pick out a book from a small shelf by the fireplace, and it burns his insides when he drinks it down.

"I have a book here that details every variety of hearts that the previous owners of the book had come across," Kuroko hums as he settles down beside Seijuurou and flips through the pages, fingertips brushing past its cream-laid paper, hushed whispers buried beneath merry crackles of the fire.

"'Bottomless Heart'," Seijuurou reads from the bold handwriting .

"Yes," Kuroko says, pausing and smiling down at the book fondly. "Aomine-kun has that kind of heart."

What must it be like, Seijuurou wonders as he notes the way the corners of Kuroko's eyes crinkle and the way he tilts his head to the side as if reminiscing, to have someone love you like that.

"Aomine-kun had always wanted to become a swordsmith," Kuroko says as he continues to browse sections of the book. "He said that it'd be a great honour to protect this kingdom. He used to joke about what it would be like if the King were to dub him knight."

Seijuurou studies him. "You're not happy with it."

Kuroko shrugs, but there's a noticeable shift about him as he begins to flip through the book faster, his touch upon the paper agitated. "It's not my place to interfere."

"I'm sorry," Seijuurou says. "I'm prying."

Kuroko stops and looks at him. "I didn't mean it that way, Seijuurou-kun."

"I know," he says, but Kuroko doesn't look away, stare soul-baring, trespasses shallows and too aware of hidden things, too searching.

Sometimes Seijuurou feels like he is sinking, engulfed by his thoughts, and he is drowning.

.

.

.

Seijuurou wakes up much too early that next morning and ends up in the front foyer of the shop, listening to the rhythmic drumming of raindrops against window panes.

The floorboards creak behind him, followed by a quiet yawn.

"It won't stop raining," Seijuurou says, and never in his life had he felt so utterly childish standing there next to the drawn curtains, watching the rain blur the world outside until it is empty monochromy.

Tetsuya's shoulder bumps into his as he moves forward to open the window a crack, and the damp smell of rain seeps through. His hair is messy, eyes fogged by sleep, and his smile is wan in the ashen light. "Yes, I know. I'm sorry."

.

.

.

Later on in the day, Kuroko brings him to Kise.

Kise is an energetic individual. He is one of those who wears his heart on his sleeve to show the world as if hearts are meant to be displayed like flower pots on window sills - however, it is a counterfeit, Seijuurou observes. He supposes that it is a clever trick for self-preservation, but for people like Kuroko, it is all too easy to see through.

"Ah, a broken heart," Kise says, upon hearing the reason for their visit, and waves it off. "Those heal sooner or later, so no need to feel like the future is bleak, right? I mean, it's not like I can tell you 'it'll get better' or something, since that sort of detracts from your suffering, but -"

"Kise-kun," Kuroko interrupts, immediately bringing an effective and abrupt stop to Kise's speech. "His is a hardened heart. Aomine-kun suggested you try doing something about since it's very similar to a jewel in texture."

"Ah." Kise scratches the back of his head, sheepish. He glances at Seijuurou. "I don't know, have you seen the doctor yet?"

"I have," Seijuurou informs him.

"Well," he says, slow. "I don't think there's a method set in stone to fix hearts. Everyone's hearts are different, but I don't think I can help you with yours."

Seijuurou tilts his head to the side, and Kise hurries on. "I mean, you'll have to soften up first - not that there's anything wrong with you! - but it's just that you can't repair a hardened heart by artificial means. That's just the way it is."

"Artificial means," Seijuurou echoes, letting that seep in, and nods.

Kuroko gives him a look as they leave behind the cheery warmth of the shop to walk back out into the rain, now a gentler drizzle, too sad and too caring for that of a stranger looking at another whom he does not even know.

.

.

.

The rain had finally let up just days ago, but Kuroko had asked Seijuurou to stay; he needed help managing the shop, now that the weather's better and more people are out and about, Kuroko had said. Indeed, by the end of that day, they were sold out of sugar and black tea and cinnamon, and in any case, the rain hadn't truly let up.

Raindrops chase each other down on the window panes, the very next day.

Seijuurou begins to leave his locket in one of the guestroom drawers.

Kuroko closes up the shop early, to read through the book about hearts.

"You have a heart of gold," Seijuurou muses, and Kuroko fakes apathy by turning to the next page. His ears are red.

They never do find out what kind of heart Seijuurou possesses.

.

.

.

Seijuurou finds his answer, one morning at breakfast.

"Can you please pass me the pepper, Akashi-kun?" Kuroko yawns, with bedhead and sleepy eyes. Seijuurou pauses in the midst of reaching for said pepper. Kuroko jolts, shock sending him wide awake. "Seiju-"

"Did you know?" Seijuurou asks, sliding the pepper shaker over to him, thinking of Kuroko's strange stare, always as if looking through a surface of transparency. "From the very beginning."

"I-" Kuroko seems chagrined, stabbing his scrambled eggs with the fork before thinking better of it and setting it down. "No. It...it was a week or so afterwards, I think."

Their eyes meet. Seijuurou thinks of warm mugs of tea and slices of pumpernickel bread, of sunny smiles and fingers cradling and feeling his heart, too gentle, too caring. He hadn't checked the state of his heart in a while, he realizes.

"Thank you," Seijuurou tells him. _For everything_, he doesn't need to say. _For being my friend_, Kuroko would understand. He had, all along.

.

.

.

A few days before Seijuurou plans to head back to his duties, Kise requests whether if Kuroko and Seijuurou could make a delivery of a necklace to a client living on the other side of the city by the ocean for him, seeing that it had rained the day before when he had been free to run the errand himself. Kuroko takes the trip as an opportunity to visit the seaside, and so the two of them end up on its rocky shores at sundown after making sure that they had a room booked at one of the inns for the night. There is a soft sea breeze - a salted wind, like crusted tears in the morning. The waves swish against the rocks gently, retreating with a film of foam. It's somewhat fascinating, how the ocean at its surface looks to be so harmless when it is in all truth so unknown.

"Let's watch the sunset, Akashi-kun" Kuroko says, already climbing over the boulders, taking off his shoes, and letting his calves hang in the water.

Seijuurou stares at him skeptically.

"You don't have to be so uptight," Kuroko says, almost defensively, like he is personally offended by Seijuurou's apparent reluctance. "It feels nice."

Seijuurou makes his way to Kuroko's side, following his example and tossing his shoes onto a rock behind him. The water does feel good, cool as it dips against his skin. The air is fresh and pleasant against his face.

He feels Kuroko's stare. "You aren't watching the sunset."

"No, I was a bit distracted," he murmurs, but he averts his eyes nevertheless. A loud flock of seagulls fly past above their heads, and Kuroko's voice is almost lost in the midst of their calls.

Seijuurou looks across the vast waters, and thinks that perhaps his mistake all along has been him not letting anyone in. They fall silent, then.

Kuroko repositions himself, so that he can rest his chin on his knees and curl his toes against dry rock.

"Are you still sad?"

Seijuurou takes a breath, inhales the sweet sunlight and glittering waves and an endlessly stretching horizon and Kuroko pressed lightly into his side. He does not need to look at his heart to know, but he imagines that it would be creased with slowly forming scars, crevices less harsh to observation. He answers: "just a little, yes."

"I think the sky will be clear tonight."

"Is that so?"

"The stars are always the most beautiful after the rain," Kuroko tells him. Seijuurou turns to look at him. The depths of his ever patient eyes in the twilight beckons the impression of being underwater and looking up, at repose and safety. Seijuurou sighs, and turns his gaze back towards the waters.

"I still a bit lost," he admits.

He sees, from his peripherals, Tetsuya giving him the smallest of smiles, soft like the blending of skies at sunset.

"You'll get there, Akashi-kun. Just follow your heart."

* * *

A/N: sometimes do you just have the same themes in all your fics but you just can't bring yourself to stop or that's probably just me idk if anyone else has this problem like I CANNOT STOP WRITING ABOUT THE SAME THINGS it is very annoying do you see my problem

also i was very very distracted by swimming anime and kikuro and _certain_ people COUGH and the happenings in the world indeed so i struggled a lot *sadface* thank you though, _certain _people, for your (scary) encouragements! BUT YEAH I HOPE YOU ENJOYED! *sweats tea*

(btw i went through le petit prince to look for inspiration at the end so that's why the sunset but now i'm on the verge of crying from feelings why does this always happen to me? i was ju s t trying to write fic spare me the feelings please)


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